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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023747">Anima Mea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperDraca/pseuds/SemperDraca'>SemperDraca</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based in Iustitia-canon but no knowledge of that fic required, F/F, F/M, Gimrizh is surprisingly secretive, His Dark Materials Inspired, Jaesa is pretty in every way, Pierce is a transparently protective older brother figure, Quinn is actually a transparently protective older brother but only if you look reaaaaaally hard, The dæmon au that nobody asked for, Vette and her dæmon are loud, everyone gets animal companions!, no beta we die like men, tagging this as explicit because I know my writing style</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:35:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26023747</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperDraca/pseuds/SemperDraca</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lot more difficult for Malavai Quinn to ignore all his emotions when they're in the shape of a snooty black cat who has no issues talking back to him. This changes more than you'd think. </p><p>In which Jaesa has an unexpected bite, Vette is unapologetically loud, Pierce just wants to fight things, and no one knows what form Gimrizh's dæmon takes. Unlike the rest of the crew's wild speculations and loud gossip, Malavai keeps his theories on the matter to himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malavai Quinn/Female Sith Warrior, Vette/Jaesa Willsaam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Malavai Quinn pt 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Should I be writing this? Probably not.<br/>Is this going to be in any way chronological or orderly organized? No.<br/>But it's here anyway </p><p>As said in the tags, this a His Dark Materials inspired au. If you've never read the book/seen the show, the basic premise is that dæmons are the external physical manifestation of a person's "inner-self" that takes the form of an animal. During their adolescence a person's dæmon undergoes "settling", an event in which that person's dæmon permanently and involuntarily assumes the form of the animal which the person most resembles in character. Dæmons frequently interact with each other in ways that mirror the behaviour of their humans, such as fighting one another when their humans are fighting, or nuzzling one another when their humans embrace, and such contact between dæmons is unremarkable. Human contact with another individual's dæmon is usually taboo.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malavai’s dæmon settles on the day he learns his parents have died in the war. </p><p>It’s four in the morning, he’s sixteen years old, and he doesn't know what to do. He’s never not known what to do before, not like this, he’s always had a plan, he <em> has </em> to have a plan for things, it’s part of who he is. This is incomprehensible. He’s never been this alone before. Not that he’s actually alone, he’s never <em> completely </em> alone, Meishui is always with him of course, and Lucian is still here, his younger brother is still alive - and Lucian’s only twelve, just barely twelve, what the hell is Malavai supposed to <em> do </em> - </p><p>Right now he can’t move at all, can’t do anything at all. </p><p>Someone had knocked on the door and dropped his parents dog tags into his hand and since then, he’s been sitting in the hallway, his back against the door and his mind desperately trying to figure out what to do now that the galaxy doesn’t make sense anymore. </p><p>Lucian is crying. </p><p>Fat, blubbering tears roll down Lucian’s cheeks without end. He’s sitting in the hall too, rubbing at his eyes and trying so hard not to wail in contrast to Malavai’s shellshocked silence. Korie is shaking between Lucian’s bare feet, currently a tiny pika with ruffled fur. Small, distressed noises squeak out from her in between Lucian’s crying. </p><p>Meishui is a panther right now, gently resting her head on Malavai’s shoulders and occasionally snarling at the door, demanding that the rest of the galaxy leave them <em> alone</em>. </p><p>But Lucian is crying. </p><p>With a whimper, Meishui shifts, growing smaller and smaller until she’s a simple black housecat. She carefully walks between Lucian’s feet, curls herself around Korie’s tiny form, and starts protectively purring. </p><p>She doesn’t change again. </p><p>~*~</p><p>“I want to eat that bird,” Meishui grumbles, prowling back and forth across Malavai’s desk.</p><p>A series of reports on Commander Rylon’s movements are nearly knocked off by her tail as she flicks it back and forth in irritation. It’s the second day of working with Baras’s newest apprentice to track down and eliminate the spy, and as days on Balmorra are forty eight hours long, everyone is beginning to get tired and nerves are becoming frayed. Having a cup of caf this morning with the surprisingly amicable and interesting apprentice hadn’t done nearly enough to keep them all awake. </p><p>Malavai grabs a datapad before Meishui’s tail hits it. “It’s too large for you to eat,” he says with a sigh, well used to his dæmon’s occasional violent tendencies. “Although I agree with the sentiment.”</p><p>While he finds the apprentice - Gimrizh - professional and competent, he simply can’t stand the Twi’lek that follows her around. Vette, or whatever her name is. And her seagull dæmon is a damn menace, always squawking and swearing and laughing every time Meishui’s ears twitch in annoyance. </p><p>“He called me a kitten,” Meishui complains. “I should tear his throat out for the insult.”</p><p>With a sigh, Malavai sets one report to the side and picks up another, once again having to move her tail out of the way to save his desk from a ruin of his own making. Or <em> her </em> own making. Same difference, really. </p><p>“Please,” he says, “have some sense of decorum.”</p><p>“<em>Kitten</em>. Bold words coming from an undignified, gangly, overgrown sack of feathers.”</p><p>“Indeed.” He keeps working. Then a thought occurs to him and his lightpen pauses over the glowing screen of the datapad. “Could you smell a dæmon following the apprentice? Er, following Gimrizh, I mean. I didn’t see anyone with her, although I was rather distracted by that damn seagull at the time.”</p><p>Meishui shakes her head. “No. Either it’s too small to smell or it wasn’t with her.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“I imagine it could be because she’s Sith.”</p><p>True. According to rumor - although he’s hesitant to believe those in general - Sith and Jedi have a different relationship with Dust and their dæmons than ordinary people do. Some can leave their dæmons far behind them, entire planets away, and the separation causes them no pain whatsoever. It’s possible that she left hers on Korriban, or Dromund Kaas, or whatever planet she’s originally from. Or it’s closer at hand, on her ship. </p><p>Meishui plops her head down on the datapad and nips his finger until he puts down the pen. “I’ll tell you if I smell anything. Now pet me. I’m distraught.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>Malavai steps onto <em> Horizon</em>’s bridge, Meishui in perfect, elegant half step behind him, her nose turned up. </p><p>The bridge isn’t as empty as he thought it would be. Gimrizh is sitting in the copilot’s chair, her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself, eyes staring out the viewport into the starry blur of hyperspace. No one by her side. Nine months he’s been on her crew, and he still hasn’t seen her dæmon. Why would that change even after getting an apprentice of her own?</p><p>It’s true, he’s learned. Force users do have a different relationship to their dæmons than the force blind. </p><p>Jaesa’s jewel-bright dragonfly, Nik, can zip all over the ship no matter where she is and it doesn’t seem to cause her any distress. Nik seems to prefer it, even, the moving about to perching on Jaesa’s shoulder, always buzzing in and out of air vents or hanging around Vette and her seagull, Track, when the loud pair work in the engine room. The dragonfly doesn’t say much and hasn’t stung any of the crew, and so no one minds that he goes where he wishes so long as he doesn’t intrude in other people’s quarters. </p><p>“Can I get you anything, my lord?” Malavai asks, taking his usual seat on the bridge next to Gimrizh. Meishui primly sits down, watching the entryway. “I apologize for interrupting, I didn’t expect you to be up this late.”</p><p>She gives him a tiny smile and it <em> hurts</em>, the gold of her eyes and the soft tug of her lips. In a stupid, daydreaming part of his mind, he thinks that she’s never smiled at anyone else on the crew like that. “I’m fine,” she says. She straightens up and stretches, the wiry muscles of her shoulders shifting and it should not be so distracting. “Thanks for offering though - and thanks for the reminder of the time. I didn’t realize how late it was getting.”</p><p>“Of course, my lord.”</p><p>“How many times must I tell you that you can call me Gimrizh, if you want?” she asks, a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks, nearly hidden by her dark Zabrak tattoos. </p><p>He nearly stumbles over his words as he quickly replies, “At least once more, my lord.”</p><p>Another small smile. She gets to her feet and wanders out the door, muffling a yawn with the back of her hand. “Good night, Quinn,” she says quietly as she leaves. </p><p>“Good night, my lord.”</p><p>Once she’s gone, Meishui pointedly clears her throat.</p><p>He points his pen at her. “<em>Don’t </em> start.”</p><p>She winds between his ankles in a way she never would if someone else were here to watch the display. They don’t usually touch in public, it’s not professional, but she’s far more casually affectionate in private. </p><p>“I didn’t say a thing,” she purrs. “You thought of it all on your own.”</p><p>“She’s my commanding officer,” he replies sharply. </p><p>“I know. Careful, Malavai.” Her tail curls around his ankle. “I can’t keep being all your emotions all the time. You can’t push down everything forever.”</p><p>He can certainly try. </p><p>~*~</p><p>Malavai raises an eyebrow as Pierce’s enormous honey badger dæmon rolls around on the couch in the main room. </p><p>“Are you certain about this, my lord?” </p><p>Gimrizh pauses for a moment and then nods. “I think he’ll be a good addition to the crew. We have all the makings of an assassination team, and well - with the war starting again,” she adds nervously, “we need to have a proper specialty. My master won’t be pleased if we can only half ass most missions. Besides. I think Pierce is very skilled, even if he’s a bit - er - Well, he can be a lot. But I think I like him.”</p><p>At least they’re out of earshot as Pierce himself is currently hanging his blaster rifle up in the weapons cabinet, laughing at something his dæmon, Ada, said. </p><p>Pierce closes the cabinet and saunters over, ignoring Malavai entirely to address Gimrizh. “So, what am I doing around here?” </p><p>“Um. Currently?” Gimrizh shrugs. “Not much. We’re waiting on the next assignment from my master, Darth Baras, but once I know where we’re going next, I inform the crew immediately. Although usually they find out when I do - <em> Horizon </em> isn’t an overly large ship and my master prefers to use the main holo terminal when he calls.”</p><p>“Hrm. Never been on a Sith crew before.”</p><p>Malavai clears his throat. “I’ll brief you on your duties, lieutenant,” he states. “Lord Gimrizh has more important matters to attend to.”</p><p>She gives him another of those tiny smiles and then a general nod to Pierce before walking past them towards the cargo hold. “I’ll be training, if you need me. And welcome aboard, Lieutenant Pierce.”</p><p>“So,” Pierce says, once she’s gone. “Didn’t know you ran things around here.”</p><p>Malavai bristles and he can see Meishui doing the same, shifting from sitting at attention by his feet to on all fours. “I’m Lord Gimrizh Korribanil’s executive officer,” he says stiffly. “Perhaps you don’t know what that means, but it is the nature of my job to handle matters that are… <em> beneath </em> her.”</p><p>A low rumble emanates from Ada, who’s off the sofa and on her haunches now.</p><p>“If I’m <em> beneath </em> her,” Pierce gloats, “then why’d she ask me <em> personally </em> to join her crew, huh?”</p><p>Malavai can’t help the flash of a smirk that tugs on his lips. “Perhaps she’s looking for convenient cannon fodder.”</p><p>There’s a hiss and a yowl as Ada attacks Meishui. The badger swipes a large, heavy paw, and she dodges it, claws out, all fangs and fury and spitting mad. Ada smacks her, sending her sprawling and Malavai can feel the echo of the hit against his ribs, but then he can see Pierce wince as Meishui drags her claws against the badger’s nearly impenetrable hide. That anger radiates through both himself and his dæmon and he’s ready to hit Pierce, the uncivilized bastard who can’t even control his dæmon - </p><p>He forces himself to stop before he can throw a punch even as he sees Pierce pull a fist back. They are both on duty, on Gimrizh’s ship, this is <em> highly unprofessional</em>. </p><p>“Meishui,” he snaps, reigning in his anger and keeping it under tight lock and key. “Enough.”</p><p>Pierce’s smug look only grows. “Know a losing fight when you see one?”</p><p>“And as for you, <em> lieutenant</em>.” Malavai glares at him, Meishui making a clicking, murderous noise at the man. “Remember that you’re new here. One more step out of line and Lord Gimrizh won’t hesitate to throw you off her ship. Oh,” he adds before he can stalk away to the bridge, “and keep your damn dæmon on a leash if you can’t manage to control her.”</p><p>“Suggest that again,” Pierce threatens, “and you’ll regret it.”</p><p>“Hm. No, I don’t believe I will.”</p><p>As he leaves, he can hear Ada’s low voice, reminiscent of asteroids grinding together, as she laughs, “This is going to be so fun, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I hate them,” Meishui growls. </p><p>That’s an understatement. Malavai almost slams the bridge door behind him. Of all the infuriating people to add to the crew - Pierce is worse than Vette. And that’s saying something, given that the Twi’lek has apparently decided that annoying him is her full time job. </p><p>“Do not do that again,” he says reluctantly. “It isn’t a fight we can win easily and Gimrizh would be displeased if we caused such a scene where she could witness it. If he cannot do his job, then that’s one thing, but we can’t - If he refuses to be professional then we can take the high ground in <em> that </em>battle, at least.”</p><p>“I want to rip her throat out.”</p><p>“Your claws cannot cut through that badger’s hide, I’m afraid. It’s too stubborn.”</p><p>“A theory’d be happy to put to the test.”</p><p>He glares at her, making her ears droop and her tail tuck between her legs. “I will <em> not </em> cause that sort of trouble on Gimrizh’s ship. I wouldn’t do such a thing to her, regardless of our own opinion on the lieutenant and his dæmon.”</p><p>Meishui thinks on that. “What about <em> off </em> the ship?”</p><p>“If you can come up with a plan to do the deed and avoid being caught, then I’m open to suggestions,” he remarks dryly. </p><p>She huffs, sitting down and elegantly licking one paw. “At least one good thing came of this.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“You didn’t use her title. Only her first name.”</p><p>He freezes, recalls the exact words he’d said, and then winces as he realizes she’s right. “I believe that’s enough from you today, don’t you?”</p><p>“Oh very <em> well</em>.”</p><p>~*~</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Vette pt 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Like I said, there's no chronological rhyme or reason to these one shots *shrug*<br/>Unlike Iustitia, my mainverse fic that I highly encourage you to check out if you haven't already, this fic is just a sandbox, so I'm not investing the same kind of effort into it that I do for Iustitia.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vette’s dæmon settles relatively early, all things considered. </p><p>He’s been a bird of one kind or another since she was torn from her family. Sometimes a parakeet, perched miserably on her shoulder while she works in the mining facilities of Raxus Prime. Some of the older slaves there, the ones who had been enslaved their whole lives and are dying from toxic dust fumes, like to tell her that having a bird dæmon is auspicious. It means she can never be bound. Never be tied down. </p><p>She doesn’t believe that until the day she meets Risha. </p><p>“What’s your name?” Risha asks. </p><p>Her dæmon has already settled then, even if Vette doesn’t know it at the time. </p><p>Risha has always known who she is from a very young age and neither she nor her dæmon had seen much reason to wait when it comes to these sorts of things. An eleven year old with a settled dæmon seems to Vette to be as unshakeable a thing as the suns in the sky. The self assurance oozes out of her, from the confident way she sticks out her hand when she meets Vette to her posture - straight back, no slouching, eyes fixed straight ahead without ever flinching. </p><p>“I’m Risha,” she says. A snake is draped over her shoulders, scales shining as smoothly as an iridescent oil-slick, “and this is Kidral.”</p><p>Track spreads wide eagle wings, reveling in their newfound freedom. Vette takes Risha’s hand. </p><p>“I’m Vette. This is Track.”</p><p>“You coming with us?”</p><p>Pirates and adventure and being out there in the stars? How could she ever say no?</p><p>Track doesn’t settle then. </p><p>He tries out being a snake for a bit, imitating Kidral as Vette tries to imitate Risha, but both of them learn swiftly that it’s not right for them. Risha is unyielding. Rigid as a rock formation, towering and aristocratic and incredible. </p><p>Vette doesn’t think she wants to be unyielding. She wants to be <em> undeniable</em>. </p><p>She turns eleven herself.</p><p>She’s sitting on the edge of a speeder parked outside a pirate base on Rishi. A warm, tropical breeze is floating past. </p><p>In the base in front of her, Nok Drayen is arguing with a local syndicate - a rival group that’s been stealing their shipments and encroaching on their territory. It’s not going to go in their favor. Nok has already got the rest of his crew lined up around the perimeter waiting to burst in, blasters blazing. Risha’s gone with him, ostensibly to learn, but also because she likes a fight and is getting to the age where Nok thinks she should have a smoking blaster in her hand more often than not. </p><p>“Don’t you wanna be in there?” Track asks, hopping around the beach as a sandpiper. “I wanna see the firefight.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Shoulda made Nok let you go.”</p><p>She kicks her legs against the bumper of the speeder. She’d argued with Nok, tried to get him to let her come with them, but he’d just brushed her off again and again. And she’s short and he’s tall. He’s old and she’s young. He’s big and strong and she’s still scrawny. </p><p>“I don’t wanna be pushed around no more,” she grumbles. “We should <em> be </em> there. We can help! I can hit every bottle without lookin’ now when we go shooting. Bet Nok couldn’t do that.”</p><p>Track squeaks and then looks horrified by how high pitched and adorable the noise had been. “I wanna fight ‘im.”</p><p>“He’s big though.”</p><p>“We could sneak up on ‘im?”</p><p>Vette leans back and imagines tiptoeing past Nok to sneak into the pirate base and fight alongside Risha. It’s a weird image. Doesn’t seem right somehow. Sure, she likes the thieving part of her job, and she’s really good at it, and it totally has its place, but she wants Nok to stop shoving her around, and sneaking doesn’t really do that. </p><p>“No,” she decides. “I wanna be <em> loud</em>.”</p><p>Track laughs and laughs and laughs and the noise gets louder and louder and louder as he turns into a seagull. Big and floppy and ready to make some noise.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Gimrizh is decidedly <em> not </em> loud, Vette decides. </p><p>She and Track don’t really know what to make of the Sith. <em> This </em> Sith, who bows to her superiors without protest and is brutally effective in combat and who, interesting enough, doesn’t seem to have a dæmon. Okay, sure, she must have one, obviously, but they can’t tell what it is or where it is. Is it small enough to hide in her pocket? Is it that Gimrizh is a Sith and can send her dæmon far from her? </p><p>“I bet it’s like some giant tiger or something,” she says aloud one day. </p><p>Track’s there sitting next to her in <em> Horizon</em>’s galley, but so’s Quinn and his smug cat dæmon, and her statement isn’t directed at anyone in particular. </p><p>“Oooh.” Track flaps his wings, spreading them out as wide as he can. “Think she keeps it on Korriban? Like it’s sooo big that she just leaves it sleeping on a giant cat bed back on Korrican and she’s so badass that she doesn’t even need it for fighting?” Like her, Track has a solid appreciation for Gimrizh’s skills. “Oh oh - Do you think maybe it’s something weird? Like - like a jellyfish?”</p><p>Vette enthusiastically points her fork at him. “That’s the kinda crazy conspiracy shit I wanna hear. If she keeps it on her, maybe it’s a fire ant or something else vicious?”</p><p>With a sharp look, Quinn snaps, “It’s hardly appropriate for you to be speculating about such things.”</p><p>“Oh come <em> on</em>. You’ve gotta be curious too?” </p><p>“I am most certainly not.”</p><p>“Liar.”</p><p>He snatches up the cup of tea he’s been making and turns sharply on his heel to walk out. “I have better things to do with my time than indulge your silly gossip.”</p><p>“Rude,” she says.</p><p>That snooty cat of his turns her nose up as she follows Quinn out the door. Track squawks at her, amused by just how similar she is to Quinn. Same stiff upper lip with both of them. Vette knows some people argue with their dæmons, she knows Tivva used to fight with her Yahi all the time because Tivva was soft and pretty and wanted to stay that way and Yahi wanted to rip and chew and fight. She’s never argued with Track, not really, they’ve been on the same page about everything for almost her whole life. She’s willing to bet solid credits that Quinn and his dæmon are stupidly identical, given how stuck up they both are. </p><p>Another pair that never argues. </p><p>Actually, come to think of it, she doesn’t even know if she’s ever heard his dæmon talk. Sure, the two of them do, but the cat is so prim and business-like in public that she never actually says anything it seems. Track doesn’t mind yapping no matter who’s around and she loves him for it. Maybe it’s those snobby Imperial mannerisms at work. </p><p>Either way, it’s clear that they’re in perfect sync. Almost like she is with Track. Then she sort of gags at that thought cause she’s <em> no way </em> like Quinn. </p><p>Track laughs at her, reading her expression perfectly as always. “We could start a fight, if you wanna?”</p><p>“Hmmm… Nah,” she reluctantly decides. “I don’t want to start shit with you for petty reasons. That guy isn’t worth it.”</p><p>“... What about starting shit with <em> Quinn </em> for petty reasons?”</p><p>“Oh, fuck yeah.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>Vette’s sitting cross legged across from Gimrizh on the Sith’s bed. A series of candy-colored bottles of nail polish are strewn about on the sheets, an adorably tiny fan plopped down to the side to blow air at their feet and dry the polish faster. Track is nesting on one of Gimrizh’s pillows in a way that means he’s definitely going to rip the pillow up at some point this afternoon, but that’s a bridge Vette’ll burn when she gets to it. </p><p>She holds Gimrizh’s hand, a cuticle clipper in her other hand going to work on Gimrizh’s frankly gnarly nails. “I’m thinking…”</p><p>“If you say pink,” Gimrizh warns, “then I’m leaving.”</p><p>She throws the pink bottle to the side and fishes around blindly for a replacement. Got one! She whips it out and waves it in front of Gimrizh’s face. “See, not pink! I was totally gonna say that I’m thinking - uh - red! You’ll look great in red. Super Sithy. Although,” she has to add, cause her mouth doesn’t know when to quit, “you’d also look great in green. I know it’s not a Sithy color, but it’d really bring out your eyes.”</p><p>Gimrizh rolls those gold eyes of hers and lets Vette get to work on her nails. “Red is perfectly fine.”</p><p>“You’re just saying that cause it ain’t pink,” Track chimes in, pocking the pillow into a perfect shape with his beak. </p><p>“...True enough,” Gimrizh admits. </p><p>The red is a nice color. Relatively pale and blush-y, all things considered, which is good. A crimson would seem too bloody. Which, sure, yeah, okay - Vette knows that Gimrizh is fine being all Sithy and blood and guts, but to be honest, it doesn’t always suit her. Sometimes it does, in a terrifying way that makes Track poke Vette and ask if they’re <em> sure </em> this is a good idea. Sometimes though, sometimes Gimrizh is like she is now. Softer, kinder, a core of crippling self-doubt and self-hatred.</p><p>The sort of thing Vette wants to smack out of her. Vette and Track spent years getting to the point where they don’t give a damn what anyone things and fuck the ones who think they’re too loud or too rude or too proud. </p><p>Track waddles over to where Vette’s painting long stripes of red onto Gimrizh’s nails. “That’s a pretty color. Have you considered dressing in more of a spring color palette?”</p><p>Gimrizh blinks at him, edging away. “Um. Not really? I don’t mean to be rude, but do you always talk to people?”</p><p>“Besides Vette? Sure. Why not?”</p><p>“It’s just… not really the done thing, I guess.”</p><p>Track cleans under his wing. “The done thing is stupid then. I’ll talk to whoever the fuck I want. I’m not that prissy cat or Draahg’s menacing krething scorpion.”</p><p>“Don’t insult them,” Gimrizh says softly, but it’s got a sharp bite to it. </p><p>“Fine, fine.”</p><p>Another neat stripe of red. Vette tries to keep her voice casual as she asks, “So uh, do Sith not talk to their dæmons in public? Or have their dæmons talk to other people? Me and Track aren’t <em> that </em> unusual - so is it a Sith thing?”</p><p>Gimrizh stares down at her cheerful fingernails and quietly replies, “I don’t know if it’s a Sith thing. It’s certainly a thing where I’m from. Korriban’s Institute Five was not - We weren’t encouraged to have our dæmons disturb the Overseers, for a start. And that sort of socializing between acolytes was frowned upon. Fights between dæmons were a daily occurrence with sparring practice and such, but that didn’t involve talking.”</p><p>That’s fucked up. “That’s uh - a bit depressing.”</p><p>Track has even fewer reservations about shutting up and appropriate times for certain statements than she does because he flat out states, “That’s fucked up.”</p><p>“It’s…” Gimrizh sighs. “It served its purpose.”</p><p>Vette clears her throat somewhat awkwardly. “Did your dæmon ever talk to other people on Korriban? Or do they talk to people now that you’re out?”</p><p>Gimrizh’s shoulders tense. “No.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>That’s still depressing. And tells Vette nothing about Gimrizh’s dæmon, leaving her still desperately curious to know where it is and what form it takes. Sure, she <em> could </em> ask, but that would take all the fun out of it and ruin the game.</p><p>~*~</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Jaesa Willsaam pt 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I still don't know what this fic is, but here's some introspective shit about Jaesa and Nik and their dicey relationship</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re so pretty.”</p><p>That’s what everyone tells Jaesa. </p><p>Her parents are poor. Not <em> dirt </em> poor, but Jaesa’s always been aware of the fact that she wears secondhand clothes and has shoes with worn down soles and that the food she eats is more of the quick-and-fast variety than it is healthy. But her parents save up their credits to send her to a nice school. Education is a way out, she’s told. And then even more seriously, that <em> connections </em> are a way out. Noble children go to her school. Jaesa will grow up playing side by side with children who will one day be titled, and that’s worth every credit. </p><p>Jaesa smooths out her uniform jacket with her small hands. First day of the new year of classes. She is only nine years old and she already knows that first impressions are the most important part of her education. </p><p>Her father waves her out the door that morning as he’s putting on his boots. His dæmon, a basset hound, yawns and scratches her ears. “Have a good first day, sunshine.”</p><p>That’s day one. </p><p>Day one afternoon has Jaesa coming back home three hours after school gets out with rumpled clothing and a scraped knee. Duke Narana’s daughter has a fondness for beep-ball, and Jaesa loves to play with her classmates. </p><p>The next morning her father waves her out the door and says, “Have a good day, sunshine. Don’t get that uniform of yours all messy again.”</p><p>Day three begins with her mother braiding ribbons in her hair. Her father waves her out and says, “Aren’t you a pretty picture? Have a good day, sunshine.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>Jaesa keeps going to her school and eventually she turns thirteen. </p><p>Nik hasn’t settled yet. </p><p>It’s the end of year celebration, and they’re moving up to their next form, and Jaesa’s positively buzzing with excitement. Nik isn’t literally buzzing. He’s a silky ermine, running around her feet helter skelter and slipping out of her hands when she tries to pick him up, laughing and giggling at her attempts. She likes him as an ermine and tonight he likes it too, the white of his fur perfectly matching the white ribbons on her dress. </p><p>A brand new party dress, with shiny white ribbons, and she’s going to be getting a ride Duke Narana’s daughter in her father’s fancy new open-top speeder. She’s going to have <em> fun </em> and she’s going to be all grown up and dance with everyone from her school, even the students that aren’t in her class.</p><p>“I wanna dance with Iris,” Jaesa decides. </p><p>Nik rolls around on the bedsheets, his tail swishing around. “She’s nice. I like her. She’s the happy one, right?”</p><p>“Mm. She’s just always so… content.” </p><p>She frowns in the mirror and then tucks a strand of hair behind one ear. She doesn’t know how to describe it, really. Iris is happy all the time. The geography teacher with the mustache is always grumpy in the mornings. Her mother frets. Her father is tired. She doesn’t have to be in the same room as people to know what they feel or even think sometimes. If she tries, she knows. It’s just how she <em> is</em>. </p><p>“Am I pretty enough, you think?” Nik asks, examining his fur in the mirror like she’s examining herself. </p><p>She nods. “I like the white.”</p><p>“Iris’s dæmon is prettier. Doesn’t that bother you?”</p><p>“... He’s a flamingo.”</p><p>“Flamingos are pretty.”</p><p>“When you settle, please don’t be a flamingo. It’s ostentatious.”</p><p>Nik hums as though considering the proposition - as though he has much of a say in what his final form will be. </p><p>“Oh!” Jaesa pauses as she remembers the most important thing. “Don’t forget to stay near me. I think it weirds people out when we’re too far apart.”</p><p>“... Are we weird?”</p><p>She doesn’t know, and can’t answer. </p><p>Her mother stops her before she leaves, looking teary and proud. There’s a desperate sort of ambition in her mind, an odd hope. She straightens Jaesa’s dress, adjusts the ribbons in her hair. </p><p>She smiles as she pats Jaesa’s cheek. “There now. What noble wouldn’t want to come home to a pretty face like that, hm?”</p><p>~*~</p><p>When Jaesa was young, much younger than she is now, she used to live on the Apalis Coast in a tiny house by the sea. It had big windows and white light fixtures and Jaesa’s room had a small holo on one wall that she watched cartoons on. It’s gone now. Along with the rest of the town it had stood in. Along with everything that had been too big for Jaesa or her parents to carry. </p><p>They’d fled to Organa City without possessions, connections, or extended family, and spent everything they could to ensure that Jaesa would have a future. </p><p>Now it’s Jaesa’s turn to repay them. She goes to a school that will give her connections, she works for a high ranking Organa, and one day, her mother tells her, one day she will meet a nice noble and she will marry them and then she’ll never have to work a day in her life again. </p><p>Jaesa is clever enough to pick a good spouse. Kind enough to not turn them away. As her father says, she’s pretty enough to break a dozen hearts. </p><p>~*~</p><p>“Don’t do it,” Nik whispers. </p><p>Jaesa ignores him and keeps walking towards the man.</p><p>There’s something about him, a shifty-ness in his eyes as he’d headed through the lobby. Jaesa works part time as an assistant in a hotel, running messages, mostly, and she’d been passing by with a datapad when she saw - when she <em> felt </em> the man do something wrong. She doesn’t even know what he did, not really. She catches glimpses when she closes her eyes - images of datafiles and meaningless text and always looking over his shoulder to make sure that he isn’t going to get caught. </p><p>“Excuse me, sir!” she says loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the lobby. </p><p>The man panics. He doesn’t do anything, keeps walking like nothing’s wrong, but she can feel his fear. </p><p>“Don’t,” Nik squeaks again, shivering with nervousness in her pocket. “We’re not supposed to get mad like this.”</p><p>Last time she got angry, really truly angry, the glass windows had all shattered. The school had blamed it on poor safety guidelines and a contractor had gotten yelled at, but she knew that it had somehow been her, and Nik knew it too. </p><p>“Sir!” Jaesa calls out again, stomping after him in her worn down dress shoes. “I’m going to have to ask you to stop.”</p><p>He reluctantly stops, turns, and gives her a simpering smile, speaking loudly enough so that all the people who are staring and whispering at the commotion she’s caused can hear, “Well aren’t you a pretty thing. Honey, where are your parents?”</p><p>“Sir, I am an employee here, and I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”</p><p>His dæmon, a small cornsnake, curls up around his wrist in fear. </p><p>“Listen,” he tries, “I don’t think there’s any need for - “</p><p>Shouts break through the lobby. </p><p>A dozen security personnel are suddenly <em> right here</em>, running towards Jaesa and the man, wolf dæmons running at their heels and hands reaching for blasters. Two of them grab the man by the wrists, forcing his arms behind his back. He struggles, of course he does, she can tell he’s terrified and furious, but it’s no use. The guards are trained and he - he isn’t. She doesn’t know how she knows that, but she knows it. </p><p>The man is forced to his knees. </p><p>There are blasters out now, one casually aimed at the man. But they aren’t going to shoot. They want him alive. </p><p>Someone else approaches - someone confident, someone who feels different. </p><p>Jaesa looks and watches as a woman walks out of the lift towards the captured man. She’s tall, but not towering. Muscular under the Organa military uniform, but not bulky. She looks powerful, undeniably so, from the tight bun at the back of her head to the stern set of her brow. The lioness striding alongside her only cements the image, the golden dæmon regal and imposing, sharp canines casually on display. </p><p>“You didn’t think you’d get away, did you?” the woman asks the captured man. “Hand over the datafiles now and this will be a lot easier for you.”</p><p>“Organa scum,” he spits. </p><p>A guard reaches into his jacket, fishes around, and then yanks out a datastick. “Here you are, sir.”</p><p>The woman takes it and turns it over between her fingers. “Thank you. Take him into custody and send someone to get the name of his employer. I want specifics this time.” She adds, muttering under her breath to no one in particular, “I swear, if it’s House Cortess again, I am going to have words with them. This is absurd.”</p><p>Nik, a mouse, climbs up Jaesa’s shoulder to whisper in her ear, “Let’s go.”</p><p>“Hold on a moment.”</p><p>Jaesa freezes as the woman walks up to her. “Yes, ma’am - I mean, yes, sir?”</p><p>The lioness sniffs at the hem of Jaesa’s uniform shirt before circling back to the woman. “I’m General Gesselle Organa. You stopped that man?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“How did you know he was a slicer?”</p><p>She shakes her head. “I didn’t. I just knew he was up to something.”</p><p>Gesselle raises an eyebrow and looks her up and down. “How?”</p><p>“I just - I don’t know. I can know things about people.” Feeling a bit brave, she points to one of the guards and says, “I know you’re in love with him.”</p><p>The lioness growls protectively, baring her teeth at Jaesa. Gesselle rests a hand on her dæmons head to settle her down. “I see,” she says calmly - faked calm, but also - there’s an intrigue in there that intrigues Jaesa in turn. “Don’t worry, I won’t be upset, I promise. Sashe is merely defensive. What’s your name?”</p><p>“Jaesa. Jaesa Willsaam.”</p><p>“And what else can you do, Jaesa Willsaam?”</p><p>“I - “ Her throat feels a bit dry all of a sudden. “I know what people are feeling. I know when they’re lying. I - I can go far away from Nik without it hurting. And I once broke a window without touching it.”</p><p>Gesselle goes very quiet for a long while. </p><p>“Am I in trouble?” Jaesa can’t help asking. </p><p>“No. No, you are most certainly not in trouble.” Gesselle smiles at her and there’s a conviction to her now. “How would you like to work for me?”</p><p>“I’m sixteen.”</p><p>“You work here, don’t you?”</p><p>“...What would I be doing for you? I don't know anything about the army.”</p><p>“I work in diplomacy quite frequently.” Gesselle leads her out of the lobby, towards a more quiet hallway. “And everyone there lies. The lot of them - They lie to my face about everything, about how many soldiers have died under their command, about how much money they need from House Organa, about how close Thul’s forces are, and they lie about everyone else constantly. I can ferret them out often enough on my own, but not always.”</p><p>The picture starts to become clear. “You want me to tell you when they’re lying?”</p><p>“If you can, yes. How can you do it?”</p><p>“Well, er, I just sort of concentrate. I can do it best when I’m not doing anything else, and sometimes I close my eyes. If I’m sitting still, that’s when it’s easiest.”</p><p>Gesselle holds out her hand, like Jaesa’s a real adult, like Jaesa’s equal to her, equal to this lioness woman. “Do you want the job?”</p><p>Jaesa shakes on it. “Yes please, sir.”</p><p>“Good. It’ll be easy enough, I promise. Sit in on meetings and see who’s a liar and who isn’t. You won’t need to say anything at all, or do anything, and I don’t think anyone will question you being there if it looks like you’re just an assistant.” She winks at Jaesa like they’re in on a joke, in on a conspiracy. “Sit still and look pretty, that’s the trick.”</p><p>Gesselle walks away and Jaesa stands there. </p><p>Sit still and look pretty. </p><p>Look pretty. </p><p>Nik shifts from her shoulder to the air and the mouse fur vanishes into iridescent wings and he’s a dragonfly all of a sudden. A dragonfly. Jewel bright wings and a tiny body and nothing more than a flash of color. And she knows - she <em> knows </em> that he’s never going to change again, that this is it, that he’s decided, that <em> she’s </em> decided somehow - </p><p>Small. Delicate. <em> Pretty</em>. </p><p>She clenches her hands into fists and she’s angry, she’s so angry. “Go away.”</p><p>“Jaesa - “ Nik tries. </p><p>“Go. Away.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>“You’re a Jedi now, girl.” Nomen Karr walks through the spaceport and she’s expected to follow him. </p><p>That’s how it is now. She’s a Jedi now, she guesses. </p><p>“Yes, master,” she says quietly.</p><p>“You’ll be expected to train hard,” he instructs. “The Jedi Temple is no place for slackers, and I’ll be taking you to Tatooine before long. You’ll study, and you’ll train, and you’ll be worth the investment I’m putting into you. Most Jedi are found when they’re children. You’re behind the curve and you’ve yet to even begin. Do you understand the severity of what I’m telling you? Do you understand the expectations that I have?”</p><p>“Yes, master.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“Master, may I ask a question?”</p><p>“You may.”</p><p>“Where is your dæmon? Is it… normal for Jedi to be able to go without their dæmons?”</p><p>He nods. “Force users can go great distances from their dæmons without pain or even slight discomfort. As a Jedi, my dæmon remains on Tython. You will be trained not only to leave your dæmon behind when you are sent on missions, but you will also be trained to control them. Will that be a problem for you?”</p><p>“No, master.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>Jaesa sees Nik once when she flies from Alderaan to Tython and they are aboard the same ship. They do not talk.</p><p>That’s not her. That’s not her dæmon. It <em> can’t </em> be. </p><p>She doesn’t want to be quiet and pretty and tiny and - She’s going to be a Jedi. She’s going to fight. That’s what Jedi do, she thinks. They fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, for the Republic, and for the freedom it represents. That’s what Nomen Karr - what Master Karr says. He is her master now, and she listens to him. </p><p>As he promised, she’s sent to Tatooine before her first year on Tython is complete. </p><p>Nik stays. She goes. </p><p>She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves.</p><p>~*~</p><p>She doesn’t see her dæmon for three years, not until Nomen Karr packs her up and ships her off to a safehouse on Hutta. </p><p>There is a Sith after her, and so she’s sent to wait in a bunker while Master Karr fights her battles for her. Nik is hiding here with her, perched on a supply crate at the other end of the room. She has nothing to say to him, and besides, she’s learned that most Jedi don’t really talk to their dæmons all that much either. So it’s not just her. This is normal. This is a normal part of being a Jedi. </p><p>“Master Karr is in danger,” she eventually says. She can feel it. “I’m going to help him.”</p><p>Nik doesn’t say anything in response. </p><p>She leaves, punching in the security code to open the bunker doors and following the force presence of her master. She doesn’t look back to see if Nik follows. It doesn’t matter if he does. A pretty thing can’t fight whatever ferocious animal a Sith has as their dæmon and a pretty thing isn’t able to stand on the same level as Karr’s preying mantis dæmon. A dæmon that’s actually useful in a fight. Useful in life. </p><p>Imperial soldiers are waiting outside the safehouse. </p><p>She takes a deep breath. </p><p>Most are faceless, masked, with the sort of dæmons she’s used to soldiers having - dogs and wolves and some big cats. There’s two that are different though. Two that feel different in the force.</p><p>One’s an Imperial, clear as day. He watches her as she approaches with nothing but hostility in his gaze. He’s analysing her though, and while his emotions are quiet and closed off, when she tries to look into his mind, she’s nearly overwhelmed by the rapid spinning and sorting of his thoughts. There’s a black cat next to him, watching Jaesa in the same way he does. When she passes him, he says something into a tactical com, too quiet for her to hear. </p><p>The other is a Twi’lek. That’s a surprise right from the start. A blue skinned Twi’lek woman, with trousers torn around the knees and a synthleather bomber jacket that’s more dust and patchwork than anything else. She’s open, open in a way most people aren’t, and she’s curious as she watches Jaesa. Not a trace of aggression whatsoever. Not even any caution. A seagull rests on her shoulders, large white wings spread out as if for no reason other than to take up space. </p><p>They let her pass. </p><p>Jaesa keeps walking. Into the safehouse, through its halls, until she finds Master Karr. </p><p>Karr is tied to a chair, writhing like a madman, and his force signature - Her breath hitches. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, but it’s not <em> different </em> - He screams, not even noticing that she’s arrived. “I was supposed to expose Baras and open the Jedi Council’s eyes! It is my destiny! Jaesa is mine! The glory of defeating Baras is mine!”</p><p>The woman is there. The Sith woman from the holo - </p><p>She’s shorter than Jaesa had been expecting. A Zabrak woman, small in stature and with an almost wiry look to her, as though her slight muscles and curves were late additions to an otherwise starved frame. And there’s a fear in her as well. She stands over Nomen Karr, in victory, but there is fear in the back of her mind in the same way that anger has been at the back of Jaesa’s for so many years. A permanent part of her. </p><p>“Hello again,” the Sith says, forcefully calm, turning to face Jaesa with unexpectedly intense golden eyes. </p><p>“Sith,” Jaesa says, “Release Master Karr.”</p><p>“No! I told you to stay put!” Karr screams, straining against his bonds. “Stupid child! For all your power, you have understood nothing!”</p><p>“Korribanil,” she says because she knows <em> that </em> much at least, “please step away from my master.”</p><p>The Sith has no dæmon. No visible one, anyway. “I’m not doing anything to him.”</p><p>Carefully at first, suspecting a trap, Jaesa approaches her master. Once she’s close enough, she drops to one knee and tries to tug at her master’s restraints. “I’ll get you out of here, Master Karr, I promise. Are you alright - “</p><p>“Foolish girl!” He struggles furiously against his bonds, his sweat-slicked hair falling into his red eyes. “You have ruined everything!”</p><p>“I must say,” the Sith quietly comments, “I didn’t know our masters speak to their apprentices so similarly.”</p><p>“How my master speaks to me is not your concern.”</p><p>“No, I suppose not.”</p><p>“It’s Baras!” Karr snaps as soon as she manages to free his hands. “He’s manipulating us all! Kill the Sith! Kill Baras’s liar, Jaesa, and you’ll see!”</p><p>Jaesa looks up and - His eyes are red. Red red red - “Master, your eyes - “ Her mouth falls open in surprise. “I don’t understand,” she repeats.</p><p>“Your master dug too deeply towards the dark side during our fight,” the Sith explains.</p><p>“But he’s not acting any different - “ Jaesa snaps her jaw shut.</p><p>Karr tugs at the ropes binding his ankles, snarling, “Kill the Sith. I’ll see you knighted for this, Jaesa. Baras wants you and me dead - he wants to take you from me, just as he has always taken what is mine!”</p><p>Jaesa gets to her feet. She takes a step back from him. “Possiviness, rage, an eagerness to kill - Master, those aren’t - the Jedi Order isn’t - “</p><p>“Shut up and kill the Sith!”</p><p>Slowly, deliberately, Jaesa closes her eyes.</p><p>Karr panics, “Don’t - “</p><p>“I sense - pride.” Oh <em> stars </em> does she sense it. It’s everywhere now that she knows what to look for, and once she sees the first imperfection, it opens up a floodgate. “And envy - and hate - vengeance - No! This can’t be right - I would have known earlier - “ She opens her eyes and stares down at her master. “You told me never to use my power unless you allowed it. Is this why? Were you hiding this?”</p><p>The Sith is standing far back. Not attacking, not - that’s <em> wrong</em>, everything’s <em> wrong </em> - “That’s what the Jedi Order does. It masks, it pretends, and it hides.”</p><p>“It’s a Sith trick!” Karr protests. “You stupid girl, can’t you see!?”</p><p>“I thought I could,” she says after a long pause. “I don’t know what to trust in anymore.”</p><p>There’s a flash of green as Karr finally frees himself - </p><p>His preying mantis dæmon leaps at her. </p><p>Pincers snapping, all fury and rage, and Karr doesn’t care that dæmons don’t touch people that aren’t their own, doesn’t care about the fact that Jedi are supposed to keep their dæmons on Tython - </p><p>A flying jewel crashes into the mantis and both tumble to the dirt. </p><p>Jaesa gasps, doubling over as she <em> feels </em> the impact in her chest, her hand pressing against her ribs because she doesn’t know what this is, she can barely remember what this feeling means, what to <em> do </em> about it. There’s another burst of that same <em> sensation</em>, like a hand striking her face but worse somehow, deeper than that, a hand striking her very bones.</p><p>She feels her own jaw unhinge, the phantom sensation unfamiliar and horrifying and - </p><p>Nik bites Karr’s mantis. </p><p>Bites and bites and bites and <em> tears </em> and she hears Karr scream in pain through her own ears and feels skin rip under teeth that don’t fit in her mouth. </p><p>Vicious and inelegant and <em> ugly</em>. </p><p>~*~</p><p>Months pass.</p><p>A decision is made. Jaesa no longer has force-suppressing cuffs around her wrists and she’s no longer in Imperial prison. </p><p>The Sith - Gimrizh Korribanil - reaches a hand out and asks Jaesa to be her apprentice. It’s not a request, not really. Baras has given the order. Jaesa <em> will </em> be this Sith’s apprentice if both of them intend to survive his wrath. But the Sith still treats it like an offer, like a courtesy that’s worth extending to Jaesa even though it doesn’t matter. </p><p>It’s almost like her first meeting with Gesselle Organa all those years ago. Only the Sith still has no dæmon at her side and Jaesa has no other options. </p><p>No good choices. </p><p>She takes Gimrizh’s hand anyway. Better than Nomen Karr. </p><p>“What’s your dæmon’s name?” Gimrizh asks. </p><p>Nik is hovering over Jaesa’s shoulder. It’s odd. He still doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t fit. Not quite her, not quite who she thinks she should be. But he ripped Karr’s mantis to shreds and that was such an ugly thing to do that for the first time in years, Jaesa doesn’t hate him. Doesn’t hate that he looks like everything she never wanted to be. </p><p>“This is Nik,” Jaesa eventually says. “Would it be alright if he came with us when we leave Dromund Kaas?”</p><p>Gimrizh frowns in confusion. “Where <em> else </em> would he go?”</p><p>Maybe Sith don’t separate themselves from their dæmons like Jedi do. Maybe they can, but maybe they don’t. Maybe they have that choice. Better than Karr, Jaesa thinks. Better than the Jedi. </p><p>~*~</p>
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